Method Books Are a Crutch — Here is Why I Teach Piano Without Them

Let me be blunt. I hate method books. Not mildly. Not secretly. I actively encourage peers to step away from them. I teach piano without method books, and here is why.

But first, allow me to provide a little bit of context before unpacking that more fully. 

When I started piano, at about 8 or 9 years old, I went to a Piano Academy (which I will not name). Like many programs, they used the Alfred series, though my initial private teacher there used Faber. 

I was a quick learner and sightread my way through most of it. So I frequently didn’t practice them, unless it was a piece that I really enjoyed. I was more interested in practicing the serious piece I had to learn alongside the method. Eventually, one of my later teachers gave up trying to force me to practice the method books. 

Later, when I started studying at UVU, that same Academy requested that I teach for them. I was not enthusiastic about teaching at the time, but I wanted money and experience. 

Confusingly, I started having existential crises every week.

“I don’t even like children. Why do I love this?”

“This student had an unmotivating teacher, but I think they are capable of so much more.”

“I feel fulfillment and a purpose to my life when I teach. What kind of teacher do I want to be? How can I encourage my students to be more excited about piano?”

As I wrestled with these questions, I discovered that technique and method books were the two main culprits that stopped a kid from practicing throughout the week. A lot of students hated technique because it was boring or difficult. If it was boring, I would make sure that they knew exactly what to practice with technique. 

For example, watch the knuckles to make sure they are not collapsing, relax the shoulders, and watch the hand position. I would and still encourage that they know exactly what they were doing with their fingers and that they weren’t guessing the notes to their scales. 

I adopted the perspective that technique is simply the ability to move your fingers the way you want. If you do technique, all of piano becomes easier. All I ask is that you do just 5 minutes a day on technique, and it will get easier. Most were able to slog through even if they hated it, and eventually they hated it less.

After that, it wasn’t difficult to ask them to do more once they saw the results, and I made sure to be incredibly enthusiastic when I noticed improvement, no matter how small.

Now, why am I writing this post? 

Because method books were required, I used them with these students at the Academy. I initially taught them as expected. Did the student play every rhythm, note, and dynamic correctly? Was it essentially perfect?

But students wouldn’t practice them, and I didn’t want to waste time on a piece that they didn’t practice. So many lessons were about 10 minutes of technique, and then I transitioned to their big piece. 

However, it bothered me that they still weren’t practicing the method books, so we sometimes had miniature discussions about them. Older students were embarrassed by their infantile nature. Many just didn’t like the songs. Many preferred to spend time on what they actually wanted to learn. 

But the majority saw the method book as a checkbox rather than an expression for music. 

That realization created a significant shift in my teaching. I didn’t want music to be consigned to a joyless obligation.

And method books had done that.

As a temporary solution, while teaching at that Academy, I told the students to use the method book as sightreading material. If they can sightread it through, making minimal mistakes and no stops, we can pass it off. And for others who practice them more consistently, I took it to them as a challenge to see how quickly they could learn a piece. 

And this process developed every aspect of their foundation. If a student improved their sightreading, it is no longer overwhelming to learn most pieces at their level. Learning a big piece is no longer about recognizing the notes, but rather learning how to create music. 

Many use method books to learn how to read notes. How do you teach a kid how to read? You teach them the alphabet. Teach them what the letters look like and how they sound. It’s that simple for notes: show them where they are, what they look like, and how they sound. It’s not like you have to start with every possible C on the grand staff. 

I think that many method books are too abstract in the beginning and are not definitive enough, which makes it difficult for many children to grasp. Trying to dissect some of the abstract examples as a teacher broke my brain a little bit. I didn’t understand the purpose of the superfluous pages to show a kid where C is.

The other issue is that many method books use the terminology of position, which is not practical or helpful in the grand scheme of music learning. If you justify this terminology by “teaching theory” and equate  “C position” with the key of C, you are missing the other half of the key and not building a comprehensive ear for the entire key.

This is why I use tetrachord scales: they teach intervals, aural skills, key signatures, and you can even address hand positioning. After a student develops fluency in this and is familiar with finger patterns, they can start scales without needing constant note correction, just fingering. 

However, the most problematic issue with most method books is that they do not teach finger independence equally in both hands. Many method books teach the left hand as purely harmonic, and it is not trained independently like the right hand. 

People also use method books because they contain progressively more difficult pieces, but there is more music out there than these hyper-commercialized books that make money on unsure teachers, monetizing music but not creating musicians, and creating dependence.

These companies found a cheap way to teach piano, not a meaningful one. 

Bartok’s Mikrokosmos was a pedagogically and life-changing discovery for me. The exposure to different harmonic modes, teaching independence in all fingers in both hands, and earlier exposure to counterpoint were key reasons why I chose to supplement Bartok in my lessons.

But even then, I do not rely on these progressive pieces to fill the lesson. Only 5 minutes. I use it to teach them how to analyze music, along with developing their hands. 

I had already begun planning and refining my teaching approach long before I left the Academy. I stayed for only 2 years, frustrated by my perception of the disservice to music that was being done there. 

Method books often relegate music to being treated as a workbook. But don’t we pursue music to get in touch with the soul? Why are we treating it like a mathematical subject where a student is forced to play a song that they despise until it is perfect? Why is there such an emphasis on completing a book rather than learning from it?

It is scary abandoning method books. More intention and planning are expected from the beginning, but it allows the teacher to expand on any topic they find relevant to the student. They can customize technical exercises based on what that particular student needs. They can find music that encourages the student to practice, so they aren’t fighting to pull their books out of the bag. 

From teaching, I have learned more and learned more about myself than I think I will ever contribute to my students. Initially, I was wary of children, but I love seeing their happy faces when something clicks. 

It brings me profound joy to see their development as they learn to work through problems and be kinder to themselves as they do so.

Teaching is not just a career; it is a vocation. The commercialized attitude will never serve teaching or students. I believe music is more important than that. Some might call that idealistic, but I think we call things idealistic only when we’ve grown pessimistic about the possibility of them.